The Illusion of Control
by shallowdweller
Summary: Backstory scenes set during Violets. Based on Patrick Jane's assertion "...the key to a good con is always making the mark feel like he is in control. I mean, you can lead a man anywhere as long as he thinks that he is driving." Exploring how this principle affects members of the team. A Jisbon worldview, but sticking to Cannon for the time being. T only to be extra safe.
1. Whose Guy?

`The Illusion of Control

A Mentalist Fanfic

**Author's Note: This is my first time publishing fanfiction. I have been reading a lot here lately, and have not seen anything quite like this, so I don't know what to call it. It isn't an episode tag, it's just some different characters in off-screen scenes to explore their personalities and points of view. I welcome constructive feedback, and I feel like posting here I have a lot to live up to. Let's just say some of the authors in this fandom have inspired me, and I hope that I can refine my writing skills while working on something I enjoy with others who enjoy it too. But of course:  
**

**Mandatory Disclaimer:  
I do not own The Mentalist or any of its characters, much as I enjoy them.  
If I thought I could make money from just my writing, I'd make up my own characters with which to do it, rather than using someone else's intellectual property. **

Chapter one: Whose guy?

Dennis Abbott had trouble keeping his eyes on the paperwork on his desk that morning. Not that it was dull. It was full of very interesting and unusual requests for the materials that Patrick Jane considered necessary for catching murderous art thieves. Things like a fancy house in which to hold a party, and art on loan from the art theft department.

He was having to exercise some of his considerable creativity to make the case for acquiring these supplies, but while his face maintained its usual calm and professional demeanor, Abbott's head was buzzing. His eyes kept returning to the drawer in his office where he kept his Voltron action figure. He was itching to get his hands into something physical, to help him process this sudden turn of events. Pens on paper was not nearly active enough for him, at the moment.

A tap on his door drew his eyes upward, to where Searles from the art squad was standing with a strained, apologetic expression. Abbott was relieved for the excuse to get out of his chair.

"Abbott, do you have a moment? I'm trying to handle the paperwork on my end and could use a bit of… a consult."

"Of course, Searles, come in." He gestured towards a chair. "Quite a change-around, isn't it? All you needed was a place to meet, and suddenly you have more help than you bargained for."

"And we're grateful, of course, I hope you know how we appreciate the offer of assistance here," Searles hurried to say as he dropped into the chair, his brows knitted and his hands fidgety. "Your man Jane was so eager to be helpful, I just didn't have the heart to tell him how much red tape would be generated by this level of inter-departmental cooperation."

Abbot smiled, sitting on his desk. "He was eager to help because as a consultant he doesn't do reports. Well, he dictates them to one of the office administrators, and she cleans them up to sound almost professional."

Searles peered up at him as he perched on the edge of his desk, a lopsided, nervous glance. "He's quite a character, isn't he? Pike's been telling me about his plan, such as it is, and it's…unorthodox, to say the least."

A chuckle. "That he is. But somehow it works for him. Since we took him on as consultant, we have closed every case that he worked on. And faster, more efficiently than I have ever seen it done. I have every confidence that this plan will succeed in catching the perpetrators."

"Then, you trust him?" Searles' eyes fixed keenly on Abbott's. "I mean, he wouldn't, for example, run off with the stolen art or something, would he?" He gave a weak laugh, and Abbott realized that it was no joke to Searles. The senior agent was putting his reputation on the line, and he was afraid that accepting this arrangement might in fact get him in trouble.

Abbott stood, closed the door, and took a chair next to the one where Searles was sitting. He leaned in. "Tom, how long have we known each other? About 15 years? You know I take my job very seriously."

"Of course I know that, Dennis, you're one of the very best. I'd bet my career on your instincts. But this consultant… I've heard stories about his background… and he really isn't one of us, he has no clue how the Bureau operates. The man's a con man from way back, and a killer. Twice. Fugitive from justice. For two years. And he wants us to throw a party for him at an old drug house, and set him up with some stolen art. How are you going to sell that to the higher-ups? How am I?" Searles waved his copies of the request forms that Abbott had been tied up with for the last far-too-long, with a familiar expression of frustrated bewilderment. Like Fischer often wore these days.

Abbott leaned back, trying to maintain his composure. His hands itched to get at his Voltron. Or better yet, to punch something himself. Tom Searles had just put his finger on some of the very things that most vexed him in this situation. Why was Jane so interested in this case? Was he aware of the position that he had put Abbott in by "volunteering" the team for this project? Did he really believe that he could catch a gang that the pros had been hunting for years without success?

With a deep sigh, Abbott said, "I know Jane's history. It was my team that cleaned up the mess he left in Sacramento. And the hoops I had to jump to get him on my team… well, let's just say if I wasn't quite sure he could deliver, I would never have gone to all that trouble."

"Yes, but can he be trusted? Are you absolutely certain he doesn't have some hidden agenda here? It's not his competence that I'm concerned about, it's his character."

"I'll vouch for his character, too." Abbott said mildly, though he could feel his gut beginning to churn. "He doesn't seem to be motivated by wealth or power, from what I can see."

A skeptical silence was his only reply.

"Look, when I went to offer Jane a deal, he didn't ask for a high salary or a prestigious position. His demands were peculiar, I'll admit, but not the sort of things most people would even think to ask for." Searles leaned forward, now looking curious, but Abbott did not want to get too specific. "There's a sort of humility in the things he wanted. Like that couch, and the tea. He likes comfort, familiarity. A man like that doesn't run off for a dangerous life as an art thief."

Searles eyed him shrewdly, fingering his files. "The work we do is dangerous, too. And not nearly as glamorous. How are you so sure?"

Abbott mulled over his response. Teresa Lisbon came immediately to mind, but he still wasn't entirely sure how she and Jane were connected, and her influence wasn't a thing he could articulate, even to himself. "Let's just say that I have some leverage." He reached for Searles' stack of papers. "Now let's put our heads together and see if we can get our t's crossed and our I's dotted here…"

When Tom Searles left Abbott's office, their paperwork had been completed, but Abbott's tension had only increased. He closed his door again, and made straight for the Voltron toy which had been his gift from Patrick Jane. He ran his hands over it, delighted with the smooth perfection of the thing. How he could make it do just what he wanted it to do.

If only Patrick Jane were nearly as easy to control.

In the bureau, it is necessary to appear confident, professional, and ready to handle anything at any time. With an old friend like Tom, one could be a bit less impersonal, as long as one was discreet. But to air his doubts, even around Searles, to allow any other agent to see him second guessing himself… well, it was unthinkable.

So while they had tossed around the wording of their justifications, and bandied about rationales, Abbott had carefully concealed his rising unease about the whole situation. And the unease had spiked when Searles had said, casually, towards the end of their discussion, "You know, when he came in and talked to Mrs. Hennigan, Pike knew who he was right away. He said, 'oh, you're Abbott's guy?' and Jane said 'well, he's my guy.' Just like that! Can you believe that?"

No. Abbott would never have believed that anyone could be that cocky, and that tactless, to say something so brazenly insubordinate at the FBI. But Tom Searles wasn't the type to lie just to stir things up. And character assassination, while not unheard of at the bureau, was nothing to be trifled with, either.

Abbott had not ground his jaw at the time, knowing it would not do to be caught flat-footed. Instead, he had laughed and said "Well, I guess he has to convince himself that he's in control, right? And I don't mind letting him kid himself. I know what's really going on."

Searles was as good a friend as Abbott had ever had at the bureau, but it was not a complete surprise that another jab was forthcoming, subtle as it was. "So then he'll have given you all the details of the plan, then?"

It was mischief more than malice, Abbott reassured himself. Not everybody at the FBI was obsessed with jockeying for position and prestige. Certainly Tom wouldn't intentionally try to make him look foolish. "I know everything he thinks I need to know. And a bit more than that." Abbott raised his eyebrows with a knowing look, intending to convey that he was actually a step or two ahead of his consultant. When in fact he was fighting his own irritation at the reminder of just how much he was being kept in the dark. Jane had told him no more about the details of his big plan than he had told Pike and the rest, and Abbott found his vagueness more than a bit frustrating. But Searles did not need to know that.

The other agent's smile faltered. "See that you do, Dennis. Even if he's not into power and money, he could make your job impossible if he forgets who's in charge. Just… a word to the wise."

And Abbott had fallen silent, remembering that Searles had been up for a promotion before Pike's predecessor had essentially taken credit for Tom's work and cut Tom out. Abbott felt guilty, for a moment, for harboring the slightest suspicion that his friend would undercut him. But he also knew that their situations were not really comparable.

The agent that had backstabbed Searles was not nearly as clever as Patrick Jane.

Abbot came back to the present with a jolt as he watched his own supervisor walk by his office, glance at the big plastic robot toy in his hands, and do a double take before walking on with a bemused grimace. Abbot quickly set Voltron down on his desk, slightly embarrassed. Yes, it was cool, he had always thought so, how these distinct elements came together to make something bigger, stronger, more powerful. Voltron was about teamwork in a good cause. But a grown man should not be seen in his office playing with toys. Was Jane really making an effort to fit in my giving him this gift, or was he out to make Abbott look foolish? Once again the agent found himself wondering if he was taking foolish risks with his reputation-with his team- in this case.

Why, why had he risked letting Jane run this operation, Abbott asked himself. He remembered the smug smile that the consultant had worn when he sent Fischer off to get briefed by Pike, the measuring look, as if he could read Abbott's rationalizations scrolling down his forehead.

Yes, Jane had gone over his head, promising the team's support without clearing it with his superiors. But he had done it in the name of inter-bureau cooperation, and wasn't that something Abbott should encourage?

Yes, Jane had admitted to having no experience regarding the theft of fine art. But when had he ever failed to rise to a challenge? His confidence was contagious, and his sense of fun... well, intriguing.

Yes, if Jane failed, it would make Abbott look bad. But then, one failure would also perhaps put Jane in his place, humble him a little bit. And if Jane succeeded, it would be another feather in Abbot's cap, because Abbott had sought and procured Jane's services, and had encouraged his initiative. A bold risk. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wouldn't the superheroes that Abbott idolized as a boy have jumped at a chance like this?

So Abbott had jumped. Now, looking out the glass walls of his office, he had to acknowledge that the choice had been made already, and he would lose face if he backed out after setting his seal of approval on the deal. Jane had already started making plans, buzzing about, but not actually telling Abbot what the plans were or giving him anything constructive to do. Other than the paperwork.

He was good at paperwork, and in many ways found it very satisfying. He remembered his father telling him once "You learn to use words and you can get pay for what you can think of, not just what you can lift." His Dad had been right, too. Abbot's skill with writing had helped him get to his current position. But it sometimes lacked the satisfaction of seeing an immediate result, feeling the world shift because of how you moved or pushed or hit.

He looked at his Voltron wistfully before stashing it away in its hiding place. He wished he had armor that could protect him from the bad guys, and from friendly fire in a world of supposed good guys, and even from the weaknesses that he struggled with in himself. He wished he could make things work the way they should, so that innocents could be safe, and justice would always be served. But his Gran had told him many times that in this world there would always be trouble. There was a God, he had always been told, and he himself felt certain of it. But Abbott wasn't him.

He took a deep breath, closing the drawer on the plastic robot, still feeling a bit edgy. It had been a while since his last work-out. Maybe a little time with a punching bag in the exercise room would help him deal with his frustrations.

**So that's the first chapter. I don't know how long it will take me to do the next, but since we all know the plot of Violets I don't think anyone will be in great suspense waiting for the next chapter to come. In fact, I'm dreading that nobody will be as interested as I am in exploring the inner worlds of these other characters. But I'll gamble that people who appreciate Patrick Jane will care about how other people think. **


	2. Subtlety

**Author note: This is probably the hardest writing I have ever done, but I am reasonably pleased with the results.**

**Author note update 6/18: I made some minor changes in this chapter because I can't put up a whole chapter yet, but I had enough limited access for once and just enough time to make a few fixes and improvements. I doubt anyone will notice the alterations, but if anyone can pick out what is different, I will give you a no-prize! God willing, I should have chapter 5 up from Lisbon's POV by Sunday, and maybe I'll have a chance for a few other chapter renovation sessions before then.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Patrick Jane, Marcus Pike, or dear sweet Wiley. In fact, this whole plot is borrowed from the writers who did Violets.**

Chapter 2: Subtlety

"I think we have a winner, here," Patrick Jane smiled broadly as Marcus Pike parked in front of the white, windowed edifice. Pike expelled his relief in a long huff, glad that the consultant had finally found a building that apparently met his expectations. Driving around town looking at confiscated homes was not his idea of fun, although he thought a house-hunting expedition might have been tolerable in different company.

"Yes…" Jane bounded up the steps, looking around appraisingly at the walls, the walkway, the greenery, taking it all in with approval. "Flashy, but not too fussy. Nice design, not too conservative. A great spot for art thieves to show off their bling subtly, without drawing unwanted attention from official quarters. I can see staying here while planning the next move…"

Pike slowly emerged from his car, hoping fervently that the rest of the premises would prove as agreeable to Jane as the façade. He had been in and out of half a dozen buildings today, while Patrick Jane examined every detail and kept up a running commentary on styles, accessibility, the pros and cons of each location, not standing still for a moment. At first Pike had been as accommodating as he knew how to be. He had gone upstairs, into wine cellars, walked the perimeters, written notes on what flaws would need to be fixed, only to throw them all out when, once again, Jane decided that this location just wasn't suitable, and "On to the next!"

Pike was getting very tired, and not just physically. Even before he had left for work that morning, he had taken (against his better judgment) a call from his ex-wife. Jenna was, as usual, trying to drag him into some emotional drama. This time it was the dog. Pike had assured her that he would talk with her about the problem later. Then at work all the challenges of collaboration outside the department had clamored for his attention. And now this search through the city for just the right place to catch art thieves in the company of Patrick Jane, who for some reason had latched on to Pike as the perfect person to conduct his tour of the art world in Austin.

As they drove from site to site, Jane kept asking question after question, not just about the houses but about art and art theft. Most discouraging of all, Pike was finding that far too often, the answer was "I don't know." He was feeling more and more out of his depth. Pike thought that he had done a pretty good job learning the ropes and the art world jargon when he had transferred to the Art Squad, and he had been in the job for years now. But Jane seemed to always want to know more. He apparently expected Pike to be a walking encyclopedia of art lore. What were the names of museums within a 50 mile radius and what was the security like at each? What were the key collections circulating in the area? How much would this statue or that painting fetch on the black market? On and on.

Where did Jane get all this boundless energy? Was it something in his tea? Hadn't there been talk around the bureau that the consultant spent most of his time lying on that couch of his?

Pike trudged up the front steps, taking the keys that were labeled for this building from his pocket while Jane pointed out the lighting features that would make the place "really pop" when their "mark" first laid eyes on it.

As the door swung open, Jane was finally still and silent for a full minute and more, just looking. Pike shuffled his feet, waiting for Jane to say that no, this wouldn't do after all, but the bureau golden boy just stood there until Pike almost collapsed from suspense. Finally, Jane turned to Pike with wide eyes, like a kid at Christmas, and said in a whisper, "This is it. This is the perfect place."

Pike felt like breaking into a touchdown dance, but instead he asked cautiously, "Are you sure?"

"You said this one had a vault in the master bedroom?" Pike nodded. "Then this is absolutely perfect! I'm going to call Wiley right away and have him bring the surveillance equipment." Jane took out his cell phone and strode through the door as if he owned the place. He called out over his shoulder, "Do you mind bringing the art in? I want to start setting up."

With a sigh, Pike turned and headed back to the car. He had not understood why Jane had insisted on bringing all the art with them, or why Jane decided that this mission should include only the two of them. It made him nervous that he couldn't follow Jane's reasoning, but at least Jane had readily agreed to his precautions to protect the priceless artifacts in the trunk. They were covered to prevent damage to the art and disguise its value, and while only one painting was large, the canvas, paint, and frames were heavy and a bit unwieldy. Pike did not like leaving any of this set of originals out in the unlocked trunk if neither he nor Jane was within view of the vehicle.

It appeared that Jane was touring the inside of this house without dragging Pike along as a guide, so as he walked slowly down the steps, he mapped out the order and arrangement in which the pieces should be brought. He decided the most expensive and well known pieces could be brought in one trip, if he was careful with them. Then he'd have to go back for the more obscure stuff and the innocuous prints that weren't actually stolen.

Jane had personally chosen each piece, from the notoriously stolen and very valuable Van Gogh to the flashy and unclaimed bits that were by obscure artists. He had been pretty picky about his selection, too, though he had indicated that these particular choices were not "etched in stone," as they would have to see "what fits in the space." Which meant, Pike supposed, that he might have to be in and out of Aladdin's cave several times before Jane was really satisfied with the way the house was decorated.

All this would be less tiring and a whole lot more pleasant, Pike reflected, in the company of Agent Teresa Lisbon. He wished that Jane had asked her along, or better yet, sent her in his place. Not only was she easy on the eyes, but she seemed a lot more relatable to Marcus Pike. He doubted that she would have assigned him all the grunt work while attending to minute, fussy details. She also seemed more likely to appreciate the depth and breadth of his knowledge. He couldn't imagine her grilling him about art until he reached the limits of his recall and then pausing just long enough to make him feel like he had disappointed before saying, "Well, I can always Google that." Actually, he couldn't imagine any sensible person doing that. But Jane had.

If this was a sampling of Jane's legendary charm, Pike thought it was overrated. But perhaps, with Jane's good looks and confidence to back it up, it went over very well with the ladies.

The bureau had at least its share of gossip, and while Pike avoided it when he could, the constant cooing of a certain selection of unattached female agents and office personnel could hardly be ignored. Since Jane had arrived at the bureau, Pike had heard his blue eyes and golden curls praised to the skies, his charming smile and wit admired, and his potentials as a romantic partner speculated upon at great length. It would be sickening, if Pike didn't also know from more sensible parties that Jane had made a significant and immediate impact on Abbott's team in terms of their closure of cases.

Although right at this moment, Pike was sickened anyway. A man with that much going for him was bound to be insufferably conceited. Not that Jane had been anything but friendly, but Pike was sure that he was patting himself on the back privately about how superior he was to Pike in every way.

Either that, or Pike was projecting. Pike had to acknowledge that as a possibility.

On the other hand, Jane was known to be a master manipulator, whose main strategy for catching perpetrators was trickery and subtle deception. His plan, or at least the parts of it that he had revealed that Pike could at all understand, involved pretending to be someone he wasn't, and creating a whole reality that wasn't real. People who weren't direct and honest about themselves, like Jane, or like Jenna, made Pike very nervous.

Of course, Pike knew that he was partly cranky because he was tired. He was actually hopeful that this con man really could pull it off and catch these guys. And no doubt Jane's heart was in the right place. Pike had seen how gently and kindly Jane had treated Sylvia Hennigan.

Still, Pike was feeling uncomfortable around Jane. It had all been going very smoothly until Pike had shown Jane and Lisbon around his cave of wonders, and then suddenly he started getting subtle signals from Jane that were… not quite unfriendly, but wary, measuring. Like he was being assessed for his qualifications, or something like that.

Almost as if the man was jealous, or something. Had he overstepped some hidden boundary by returning Teresa Lisbon's playful banter?

But Pike had seen no signs of affection between the two, none of the half-conscious touches or glances that marked people who were in a relationship, even when it was secret. Of course, since Patrick Jane was better than average at deception, perhaps he could conceal his feelings for Teresa, if he had them. But Teresa Lisbon did not seem to Pike to be anything but above board and straight forward. And hadn't she sent Pike some very clear signals that she was interested in him?

Or had she? Pike knit his brows as he gathered up the stolen artwork, which had been kept hidden since its recovery. As he carefully hefted the paintings, he mentally reviewed Teresa's words, her facial expressions and voice, during their brief interactions. Her warm, steady eye contact, her smile, the suggestive lilt of her voice, the tilt of her head and the lift of her eyebrows. He was no Don Juan, by any stretch of the imagination, but those all seemed like interest to him. But perhaps the Great Patrick Jane could give him some hints on the finer points of romantic expression with females.

"Do you need some help with that?"

Pike started violently at the sound of Jane's voice at his elbow, as if in answer to his thoughts. The VanGogh almost slipped from his grasp, but Jane caught it before it made contact with the pavement. "Here, let me get that one. You did say it's the most expensive, right?" Pike responded with a dumb nod. "Then I know just the place for it."

Rearranging the paintings gave Pike time to process his embarrassment, hoping that the perceptive Patrick Jane would not see his anxiety. To have been so careless with the evidence was a serious blunder, one which could get him fired. All because he was distracted over the lovely Agent Lisbon. Who may or may not be a person of interest to Jane, as well.

"Anything else I can help you with?" Jane inquired, straightening with the most valuable treasure securely in his arms.

Pike shook his head, and stammered out, "No, no, I've got these. You said the really valuable ones would only go in one room, right?"

"Of course, the master bedroom." Jane quirked his eyebrows. "An arrogant art thief would want to keep it close enough to appreciate, maybe give his love life a kick. And of course, it would be dangerous to put it all over the house, where a discerning guest might start asking questions."

"And you're playing the arrogant art thief?" Pike confirmed, lifting the other paintings very carefully.

"Well, it's hardly a stretch," Jane drawled, leading the way up the steps while keeping an eye on Pike's load and a free hand ready, just in case. "You sure you don't need a hand? I didn't realize that these were so heavy…"

"Nope. I'm good." Pike huffed as they reached the steps. For some reason, Jane's self-assurance was making him bristle with insecurity. He tried to think of something clever to say. "So why does this arrogant art thief need to give his love life a kick?"

"Excuse me?" said Jane's voice from the other side of the pictures.

"I mean, if he's rich and handsome and smart, why does he need stolen art in his bedroom to get romantic attention?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Pike wanted to kick himself. Especially when Jane peered around the edge of the frames with an air of veiled concern and mild embarrassment and said, "Well, that's very flattering… um… I'm sure you're a great guy, but I'm really more interested in women."

"Uh, me too!" Pike hastened to say, and once again mentally berated himself for his delivery. If he had heard another man reply that way, he would have suspected that the guy was in denial. "What I really meant was, will our, uh, 'mark' believe that this art thief needs stolen art in his bedroom to get a woman?"

Jane shook his head. "Now you're overthinking it. The backstory isn't supposed to be something the mark notices or thinks about. It's all subtle, subconscious. Besides, this art thief has a partner. It won't be hard for our mark to believe that our inside man wants to keep the inside woman happy."

By the door now, Pike rested his paintings on the pavement and looked fixedly at Jane, with an unsettled feeling in his gut. "Who's the inside woman?" He already knew the answer.

"Agent Lisbon, of course." Jane met his eye without a hint of challenge, but somehow Pike a feeling that he was being mocked. Or else… tested?

"Does she know that?" he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was this Jane's subtle way of telling him that Teresa Lisbon was already spoken for?

"Not yet, but she's well up to any challenge," Jane said, picking up all the paintings and carrying them into the house while Pike stood there, dumbstruck. "I've worked with her for years. She's the very best."

"I believe it." Pike said without hesitation, following Jane into the house. "Her eyes are always alert, she seems to know what's going on around her even when she's in an unfamiliar place. Like she's always ready for anything. And she's obviously a quick thinker, you can tell that she's rarely at a loss for words. "

Jane paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked back at Pike, his expression thoughtful, but guarded. "I think I've underestimated you, Agent Pike. You are an excellent judge of character."

Pike did not know if he was being complimented, or if there was some hidden slight in the comment, but he decided to take it at face value. "Thank you. But I just call it like I see it. It isn't hard to tell that Teresa Lisbon is an excellent agent."

"She excels in every way," Jane replied earnestly, then, looking at the stairs, set the paintings down. "It will take both of us to get these upstairs safely. I'll lead, since I know where we're going. Can you take the lower end?"

"Sure." Pike leaned over and took the bottom of the largest painting.

It was accomplished quickly with the two working together. Pike was impressed with Jane's patience and care, and with how easily he seemed to know when to move and when to pause so that the other could adjust. When they got to the master bedroom, Jane set his end down and surveyed the room. Pike followed suit.

"So, the Van Gogh gets pride of place here," Jane pointed. "When the light goes on, the lighting draws focus right there. Then our mark scans the room left to right and sees all the other pieces spaced around the room and prominently displayed. The main camera should be focused right here," Jane stood in a spot at a good viewing distance from the first wall that he had indicated. Looking at the bed and curtains, Jane grimaced. "We'll need to redo the colors in the room, I'm thinking bolder, red, or purple…"

"Hey, Jane?" a voice called from the entry, and Pike started in surprise. Jane merely smiled and nodded.

"Come on up, Wiley! Follow the sound of my voice…"

Pike rolled his eyes and sat on the edge of the bed while Jane stepped out to beckon the young tech whiz from Abbot's team up the spiral staircase. He had to admit that he was bushed, but really did not want to let Jane see it.

"Wow! This is amazing! Did it come fully furnished like this?"

"It did indeed! We'll need to make a few adjustments for the sake of authenticity, of course. Our art thieves will have very specific tastes, and we don't want any subtle hints of the house's origin getting through to our mark." And they walked into the bedroom, Wiley's arms full of equipment, although Jane had apparently taken some containers of take-out food off his hands on their way down the hall. Pike sprung to his feet, trying to look ready to work.

Jane's lips quirked as though suppressing a smile. "At ease, Agent Pike. Thanks for all your help today, you've earned a rest. I hope you've been introduced to young Wiley, here?"

"Just in passing. I saw him way in the back at the briefing. Searles says Abbot speaks highly of him."

Wiley, already glowing with excitement about being included, perked up even more. Jane's eyes lit up, looking between the two with deep satisfaction. "Great. You two will make a great team. I'm counting on the two of you for monitoring to keep this project safe and get the goods on Pulaski's team." He turned his full focus to Pike, "I hope you don't mind being behind the scenes for this. You've been working this case for a couple years, so Pulaski would recognize you. However, you've given me a good grounding in the biz, so between that and a little personal research, I should be up to speed by tomorrow night to pass as a professional art thief. Unless you can think of anything else I need to know?"

Pike was dumbfounded. His frustration over all the questions and the other aggravations of the day, the feeling of inferiority he had been fighting since they had begun this trip, evaporated as he realized that Patrick Jane was relying on his information to prepare for a face to face encounter with a potentially dangerous criminal, armed with only his wits. Pike wasn't sure whether to be worried that Jane didn't appreciate the risks he was taking, or stunned that this law enforcement legend was putting so much faith in him-in Pike and his understanding of the art world, in Pike's ability to keep him and his team safe while getting the information they needed.

"If I think of anything else, I'll let you know." It was all that Pike could say.

"Good. Then why don't you join us for dinner. You like Chinese, I take it?"

Pike wondered how he knew, but gladly took some of the containers off his hands. He hadn't even realized how hungry he was until he caught a whiff of the food. While Pike ate, Jane continued his list of what changes needed to be made to the house, and Wiley wrote everything down on his notebook, often asking questions. Wolfing down his rice and General Tso's chicken, Pike still smiled just a bit as he heard Wiley imitating Jane's con jargon, and marveled at Jane's patience in answering every query. He sure didn't seem like some unapproachable prodigy. He seemed to like the human connection, the chance to pass on a bit of what he knew. And clearly, he liked Wiley. Pike chuckled to himself at the young man's eagerness, thinking, _what's not to like?_

And then, his phone chirped. Pike groaned. It was a text from Jenna. He had promised he would call her around 4, and it was already after 5. As he glanced at the message, he saw Jane interrupt his train of thought to watch him, putting up a hand to Wiley as a cue to hold the thought. But the message on his phone made him blanch, and he hurried to type a response.

"Don't send that, " Jane told him, before he hit the send button.

"What?" Pike looked up sharply.

"You're telling your ex-wife that you'll be coming to her directly. At the veterinarian's office?"

Pike was speechless for a moment. He nodded.

"The dog isn't so sick that you need to be there. It wasn't even your idea to get the dog anyway. I know that you care about what happens to him, but your ex is just yanking your chain. Tell her to make whatever decision seems best to her." Upon finishing this jaw-dropping speech, Jane grabbed his chopsticks and took a bite of his shrimp lo mein.

"But she says it's a tumor…"

Jane finished chewing but held up a finger, and Pike waited.

"You have a long day tomorrow. You'll need your rest. And you certainly don't need to get into a conflict with a woman who cheated on you about a dog that you didn't ask for. Count your blessings that she couldn't have children. You'd probably still be with her taking care of a child, whether it was yours or not. Just remember there was a reason that you agreed to a divorce. And being at her beck and call over a dog she doesn't even let you visit was not part of the deal."

"But…"

"Of course she will take good care of the dog. Where else will she get truly unconditional love? If it makes you feel better, offer to pay for whatever treatment she thinks is best, or to take the dog for a second opinion at another vet." Jane took one more bite, and then stood up. "If you'll both excuse me, I'm going to check on the facilities."

Once Pike could speak again, he demanded of Wiley, "How did he know any of that? My ex-wife, the dog, the vet… Things like that don't get reported in our personnel files, do they?"

Wiley shrugged, "Nahh, that's just Jane. He picks up on little things and figures out your whole life story. It's worse than 24 hour surveillance, he can just get right into your head. But you sorta get used to it after a while."

Pike grimaced, and amended his text before sending it. It had been good advice, after all.

Jane returned more quickly than Pike had expected. "Well, agent Pike, you'll be taking the late shift tomorrow, so maybe you ought to get that good night's rest. I think Wiley can help me with the rest of the art, if you'll help me unload the car. By morning we'll get your team a list of the remaining supplies we'll need to set the stage for tomorrow night. I'll take care of wardrobe and help Wiley's team out with the surveillance set-up."

He offered Pike a hand up from his spot on the floor, and Pike didn't hesitate to take it. "Good working with you, Wiley," he smiled at the young man, still at the foot of the bed reviewing his notes as Jane and Pike picked up the empty food containers

"See you tomorrow, Agent Pike," Wiley grinned, then returned to the notebook.

As Pike and Jane went down the steps, Jane said quietly, "I need to ask you one more favor, Agent Pike. After the main event is done tomorrow night, Lisbon and I will have to spend the night here, so our mark doesn't get suspicious."

"Yeah…" Pike said, the unsettled feeling returning.

"Once everybody else is out of the house, could you make sure the cameras are all turned off? Agent Lisbon will want some privacy so she can rest properly."

"Of course I will." Pike would never wish to make his colleagues uncomfortable. But he couldn't help thinking it strange that Jane would make a point of saying it to him, in particular. As if, once more, he was trying to send him some kind of subtle message.

But why be so circumspect? Pike found this kind of thing frustrating, saying one thing and meaning another. It was one thing to do secrecy for your work, but why would anyone deliberately make it part of their personal life?

Patrick Jane was capable of being very open, like he was with Wiley tonight. And he sure hadn't been shy about giving advice to Pike about his own private matters. So why not come right out and say, "I can see you're interested in Agent Lisbon, but I saw her first." Or else "it's good that you appreciate Teresa Lisbon, just be sure you treat her right." Either of those would make sense.

But to play games, to hint and hover, to undermine a man's self-confidence on the one hand and on the other issue compliments that appear nothing but painfully sincere… what kind of man does that?

The two men took the rest of the artwork out of the trunk. Pike felt awkward, uncertain how to react to this strange man who seemed so disconnected, even with himself. His gut said the man could be trusted, but Pike had been wrong before. He had been wrong about Jenna, certainly. And the real issue might not be whether Jane could be trusted, but what he could be trusted to do.

"Listen, um, I want to thank you. For all you are doing for this case. You didn't have to offer your help here. I don't know if what you've got planned will really work, I've never seen a case done this way. But that you're even willing to try… I certainly could not have given Sylvia Hennigan the hope that you gave her."

"I hate it when people thank me." Jane put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. "I'm a basically selfish person, and I've hurt people, even people who didn't deserve it. People I…" He didn't complete the sentence, but sighed heavily, and Pike felt a surge of pity. How strange to feel sorry for a man who seems to have everything. Then Jane looked up with a sad smile. "But you can trust me when I say that what I want most is for justice to be done. There are good people in the world who suffer for no good reason. The least any of us can do is to try to make things better for them. To give them a chance to be happy again."

Pike wondered what it would take to make this wounded soul happy. Whatever he might have done in the past, it was clear that he cared very much about making things right. What would it take to make things right for Patrick Jane?

"Is there… anything else that I can do for you?" Pike meant it to be and off-hand question, but his concern rang through the words.

Jane chuckled. "You remind me so much of…" and then his face fell and again his complete thought went unspoken. "Just get a good night's sleep. Anything else can wait until tomorrow." Jane picked up the paintings as Pike reached for his keys. "And don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you almost dropped the paintings. Hard not to be distracted with all this beauty about, right?" Jane winked, and walked up towards the party house.

Pike shook his head as he started the car. Perhaps Jane was as tired as he was, after all. It was as if everything Jane said could mean several different things. Pike wondered if even Jane knew the truth of what he was feeling from moment to moment. But Jane certainly could not know that he had lost his grip on the paintings because he had been thinking about Teresa Lisbon. He wasn't a mind-reader, after all.

Pike was not naturally good at subtlety. He remembered how hard he had worked to discover the fine distinctions between brush strokes or kinds of paint that could mark the difference between a genuine masterpiece and a cleverly devised fake. Similarly, he had learned about dishonesty in relationships the hard way, both with in personal relationships, and at work. His ex-wife, in particular, had given him a painful education on what dishonesty looked like and the damage that it could do. He didn't want to ever be hurt that way again.

So he had refined his taste for honesty and kept a good distance from people who were too nuanced in their dealings with others. It was part of how he learned to protect himself from heartbreak. He couldn't control other people's characters, but he could make himself less vulnerable to emotional manipulation. He surrounded himself as much as possible with people who cared about being fair, and reasonable, and straight-forward.

So Teresa Lisbon, with her open smile and frank humor, made him feel instantly comfortable. Her lack of guile was more than just refreshing, it was very attractive. As if her looks, strength, and wit weren't already appealing enough.

Patrick Jane, on the other hand, had some genuine heart to him, but it was covered over with layer upon layer of artifice. Like a VanGogh painting, the bright colors were applied thick. So being with him put Pike on edge. Or maybe, he reflected with his own characteristically honest self-examination, he was on edge because on some level he felt that Jane was a rival.

And that was the real problem, Pike finally admitted to himself. When he couldn't avoid hearing office gossip, he took it very lightly. But even he had heard the rumors about Teresa leaving a job in Washington to join Abbott's team because Jane was there. It just hadn't registered with him until Patrick Jane had interrupted his… well, flirting, if he was honest… that perhaps this beautiful and intriguing woman might still be single for a reason. And Patrick Jane might conceivably be, well, part of the reason.

The full realization of this was daunting. Pike was no mental slouch, but he knew that Jane was more than a match for him in brain-power. Nor could he compete for sheer good looks. He had thought, at first, that he had strength and stamina, but Jane had effectively blown him away in that department, just today. But a woman like Teresa wouldn't make those things her highest priority, anyway. Even his character… Pike had to admit that the arrogant, selfish manipulator which some people saw did not do justice to Jane's kindness, his fairness, the thoughtfulness of which he was capable. So what could Marcus Pike offer a woman like Teresa Lisbon that Jane didn't already have?

Nothing but honesty, he supposed. Not that Jane was necessarily duplicitous with Lisbon, but to the best of Pike's ability to discern, the man was so subtle he was even confused and conflicted about his feelings himself.

Still, Pike decided, he owed the man. He would make sure of the other man's intentions before he pursued his own interest in Lisbon. He would just have to do so… privately.


	3. Choreography

**A/N: Many thanks to Make-Mine-A-Kiaora for a helpful offhand suggestion about economy of word use that made it much easier for me to get Cho's voice. I knew posting here would stretch and challenge me! Also thanks to those who read and reviewed. It is very encouraging. I hope that you all enjoy this week's installment**

Chapter 3: Choreography

At fifteen hundred hours, I get up from my desk. Reports saved. Memos read. Time to prepare for tonight's efforts.

Abbott meets me at the elevator. "Good to see that you're ready. Thanks for making time this early. We'll beat the end of the day rush. That's your costume, I take it?" He nods at my bag.

"Yes, sir." I had to duck out during lunch to get the clothes. Wardrobe was part one of my assignment. Part two, the choreography, is next on the agenda.

The elevator doors open, and we step in. The basement floor has a gym. It should be quiet. A good place to plan our moves.

"Good. Let's get this show on the road."

He smiles. It suits him. He used to be always stern, straightlaced. Like he had an iron rod up his back. Unbending. Since Jane came, he has loosened up. Maybe he likes closing cases quickly. Maybe he likes Jane's style. Whatever the deal, it makes life more pleasant for everyone.

I change in the locker room. Abbott is warming up when I enter. I see a couple other agents on weights, one at a treadmill. Abbot is on the mats, stretching. The jacket Jane got for his costume is on the back of a chair. He turns towards me. Sizes me up. "I understand you've done some street fighting before you joined law enforcement?"

I nod.

"Want to show me what you can do?"

After some warm-ups, we spar. The adrenaline feels good. Perks us both up. We're men of action, and this is just the kind of action we like best. We are evenly matched. He has a slight advantage in mass, and it's more muscle than I had thought. His discipline is impressive. When we finish, we are both breathing hard.

Applause. The crowd in the gym has grown. They have stopped to watch us. Seems they like what they see.

He looks at me sideways, slight grin, grudging respect. "You'll do, Cho." He takes a swig of his water bottle and passes it to me. I accept it, pour it down my throat and wipe my face. The circle around us disperses.

Abbott leans in to speak. "Well, we probably want to keep this simple. The idea is to make Pulaski trust me so that he'll leave the bar with me and I get him to Jane. I think to get us out, maybe I have to let you win."

"Not necessarily. You knock me down, he figures you have his back. I come back up with a gun, and you've got a perfect reason to leave."

Approving nod. "You've got something there. So first I get him comfortable, then you come and attack him."

"What for?"

"You'll come up with something. Think you can take him?"

I've read his file. He's big, tough. Experienced. But I'll have the element of surprise. If Abbott does his job, probably he'll be intoxicated. "Not a problem."

"Good. Once he goes down, I'll take you down in one…"

We practice the moves. Try a couple variations in case Pulaski doesn't go down easy. We mark it, but we both know that Abbott will need to connect. Hard. Pulaski should have no doubt that it's real. I'll dive, too, but my jaw and Abbott's hand will be sore afterwards.

Nobody said this job was easy.

When we're satisfied that we have it down, we take another breather.

"Can I ask you something, Cho?"

I recognize the tone. Rigsby used it sometimes. This isn't strictly business. But he's the boss. I nod.

"You worked with Jane a long time, right?"

"In the CBI? Almost 10 years."

"And you trust him?"

"Trust him for what?"

Abbott does a take. Then he just looks at me. Waiting. I know what he's looking for. And he's the boss.

"Patrick Jane is a good guy. Sometimes overthinks things. But he wants to do the right thing. He also likes to play. When you play along, you get the bad guy. Might also lose face along the way, but its worth it."

"He likes to play…" Abbott's wheels are turning. "Like the toys?"

I smile, remembering the jumping beans. I see Abbott smile big in response. "That was Jane inviting us to play with him." Abbott nods. Then looks around at the gym, beginning to fill up with agents that end their day with a work-out.

He lowers his voice and asks, "You think he would bolt?"

That sets me back on my heels. "What for? You gave him everything he asked for."

"Did I? What about Lisbon?" Ugh. I see where this is going.

"She seems to like the work here. She does her job, regardless."

"I don't think that she's entirely happy, though. And I'm not sure just working with her was what Jane had in mind."

Do we really have to go there?

As the boss, it's Abbott's job to care if an agent's personal life affects the team. But I steer clear of my team-mates' love lives. One reason I don't seek out promotions.

Abbott notes my hesitation. His eyes scan the gym. Wary. He grabs the jacket. "Let's take this to my office, shall we?"

We get some looks, going against the tide. Most people are leaving the offices. We're going back. Dressed informally in a sea of suits. I ask myself what I should tell him. What I should hold back. Knowledge is power. How do you know how much to trust someone with personal power? Over people that you care about?

He closes his door. Motions me to a seat. Takes another next to me. His eyes go to a closed drawer. Whatever he keeps there, he wants to take it out. But he fixes his eyes on me instead. "What do you think Jane wanted when he demanded to work with Teresa Lisbon?"

"Don't ask me what Jane has on his mind. But he wouldn't ever pressure Lisbon, or let her be hurt if he could help it." He better not. I'd kill him. "As long as she's working here, Jane will be as loyal as they come." My skin crawls just saying it. It feels like a betrayal.

"And do you think she's happy?" Abbott will not let up. I try not to bristle. This is not my story to tell. Even if I knew for certain that I could speak for her.

"It would be a mistake to mess with Lisbon and Jane. Whatever the deal is between them, they need to figure it out themselves."

Abbott softens. "I don't just ask because I want Jane's cooperation, you know. Lisbon is a fine agent. She was always a good cop. When the CBI went down, it was my responsibility to test the character of each individual involved. I had to be sure of who was compromised, and who was not." Abbott's eyes wander back to the big drawer. He distracts himself by taking another drink from the water bottle still in his hands. "She passed with flying colors. Her only weakness was her loyalty to her team. And to me, that's not weakness."

I wait. Where is he going with this?

"She cooperated on the whole investigation of Red John and the Blake Association. I read every report she ever wrote on the subject. They were detailed, thorough. Except that I knew she left some things out. She never mentioned Jane's obsession with revenge on paper. It took hard questioning to confirm that she knew about it. You all did, right?"

"I knew." I'm not ashamed to confess it. But I won't speak for anyone else.

He shakes his head. Rueful smile. Like he heard the part I hadn't said out loud. "Loyalty. Integrity. Personal responsibility. Your whole team at the CBI was like that. These distinct elements, coming together to make something more powerful. That's what I wanted my team to be like. I kept wondering, how does that happen? I mean, I know it was Jane that brought the case closure up. Lisbon's reports gave him complete credit for his ideas. But he didn't work as well for anyone other than her. And it was clear that you each had a part to play. Without your team, the Blake Association might have stayed in power indefinitely. By the time I finished that investigation, I knew that you were the best crime fighting machine I had ever heard of. I never hated my job more than when I had to take that machine apart."

His eyes are locked on mine. He means it.

It took me a long time to stop hating Abbott after that business. Hearing this is hard. But now I understand better.

"What I wanted most was to build a team just like it. When you accepted my offer to join the FBI, I was delighted. You know, Lisbon had nothing but commendations for everything you did. All through her paperwork, again and again. I got sick of reading it. 'Kimball Cho's quick thinking,' 'Kimball Cho's penetrating interrogation,' 'More fine investigative work by Kimball Cho.'" He smiles. "It didn't take long to see that she was not exaggerating. If anything, she showed some restraint. Even I have to resist the urge to brag you up, sometimes."

I blink. High praise. Abbott doesn't give out insincere compliments. Neither did Lisbon. But I won't tell him that I asked Lisbon to tone it down. My work should speak for itself.

"But one fine agent does not make a team. I never thought Teresa Lisbon would join my team. In her eyes, I dismantled her livelihood. She was never hostile to me, just cold. Reserved. I can't say that I blamed her. But I needed her. If anyone could tell me how to catch lightning in a bottle like that, it would be her. Of course, being a small town sheriff didn't exactly use her capacities to their full potential. And whenever I showed up, she shut down. So I decided that the one thing my team needed most was Patrick Jane. I tried everything I knew to get to Jane. Lisbon was my best lead, such as it was. If it weren't for the letters, it would have been useless. She would never have intentionally given up any information that would lead us to Jane."

"It was a lucky break for me that Jane insisted on working with Lisbon. And lucky for both of us that she agreed to it. And after witnessing the Rigsbys in action, I can't tell you how much I wish I could have convinced them to sign on too. "

I say, "Under the circumstances, you can't blame them." But the thought of having our old CBI team together leaves a weight in my chest.

"Of course not. They need to keep their family safe. I want my people safe, too. More than that, I want them to thrive. And Lisbon… I'm not sure why, but she seems uncomfortable, to me. Don't get me wrong, she does excellent work, and I wish I had ten of her. But sometimes it seems like her heart isn't really in it. I would really appreciate your thoughts on the matter."

I consider. "What makes you think that I would have any insight here?"

"You've worked with Lisbon for a long time. You knew her when she was happiest and most productive. You were a key part of the team that made that happen." He pauses. "And I know you care about her. Like family. What would it take to make her feel at home with us?"

Deep breath. He was asking my input. I decide to take it on faith that he was serious about putting the team's interests first. "I can't speak for Lisbon. But I can tell you what I see. It might help you with the overall team dynamic."

Abbott leans in. "Please continue."

"When I joined up here, the thing I missed most was the camaraderie. Our team was like a family. We looked out for each other. Lisbon made sure we didn't deviate too far from the rules, but the rules weren't the point. Rules, procedures, all those things… they were there to keep us safe. They were there to help the team operate smoothly. And when the needs of the case, or the needs of the team, required rules to be bent, we did that. Because the goals and the relationships were the priority."

Abbott's brow furrows, but he nods. He wants to hear it all.

"Now I appreciate efficiency. I like honest boundaries. But as a whole, the FBI is way too stuck on the appearance of perfection. The suits, the fancy equipment, even the architecture… it sometimes feels like a charade. Like we're conning somebody. Maybe even ourselves." Glancing up at Abbott, I see him nodding thoughtfully. "It's as if we're trying to convince ourselves that we're above human failings. Human feelings."

"So… you think I need to relax a bit? Be less demanding?"

"No, I was talking about the FBI in general. I think **you** are doing a great job. It's just a matter of setting priorities. Like you've done on this case. You're letting Jane lead. You didn't demand to know the details of the plan when he was still working them out. You let Wylie be the one to brief us. You even agreed to play Jane's thug because that's where you fit best in this plan. In your position, it would be easy to stand on status. Get worked up over details. But if your priority is a team that clicks, you have to be willing to trust. It's like a dance. You may be leading, but you have to be responsive to your partner. It just takes time to learn what that means with each partner."

The boss just thinks for a long time. Then he inclines his head to me. "Thank you for teaching me." Then he chuckles, shaking his head.

"Something funny?" I don't usually talk so much. He better have been listening to understand, not to mock.

I watch him try to suppress the smile. "Sorry, Cho. I just have to ask. Do you dance?" I could see him trying to picture it.

I decide to take my own advice and kill my pride. "I'm full of surprises." My mouth quirks into a smile. It feels good.

Abbott rises, still smiling. "Thank you for the work-out, Cho. See you in a few hours." He walks to that drawer and turns to see me, still watching him. He pauses. Considers restating the dismissal. Then stands up very straight and opens the drawer. Takes out a colorful toy figure and sets it on his desk. Prominently. Looks at me as though daring me to laugh at him.

"Vehicle Voltron. Nice. I loved that show. See you soon." I get up and leave, not waiting to see Abbott react. He already knew I respected him. Beats me why he asked advice from me. Or why he let me see so much into his head. Could be he needs a friend.

I think I can do that.

Heading out, I see Lisbon and Fischer. They're dressed to the nines in the outfits that Jane chose for them. Their heads together, talking in low tones. Lisbon does look flustered. Maybe Abbott's right. At the CBI, she was never this unsure of herself, even when Jane asked her to do something really out of her comfort zone. "Cho!" Relieved to see me, she franticly beckons me over. "I need a man's opinion. Does this make me look like a floozy?"

"I keep telling her she's gorgeous, but she won't believe me." Fischer rolls her eyes. Amused smile. And completely sincere, not a hint of competitive posturing. Maybe because she, too, looks completely stunning.

This is awkward, but I know what needs to be done. "You could make any outfit look classy, Lisbon. And Jane knows what suits you. You'll knock 'em dead tonight."

"See?" Fischer says, almost smug.

I try to keep my eyes on Fischer's face. Which should not be so hard. "And Pulaski won't even know what hit him." Why did I even say that? Agent Fischer needed no reassurance. Now it's her turn to look flustered. I really did not intend that.

"Um, thank you." I see Lisbon's smile when Fischer briefly loses her typical poise. Distracted from her own unease for a moment. I grab my cue stick from my desk.

Lisbon follows me, while Fischer returns to her own desk. "Seriously, why did Jane put me in this situation? He knows that I hate heels. And I don't do cleavage!" I look at her, not showing my concern at her reaction. This has really thrown her. "Besides, he says I'm a bad liar, so why give me such a prominent role?"

I could give her my guesses. Maybe he will find the view inspiring. Maybe he wants to keep her close to be sure that she doesn't get hurt or blow the con. Maybe he thinks being his besotted partner in crime won't be a big stretch for her.

But any one of my guesses could shake her confidence further, and I don't really want to be punched out more than once tonight.

What could I say that would be helpful?

"Jane likes working with you. Lately you've been on separate assignments. He probably misses you and grabbed the chance to monopolize your company while Abbott is being agreeable."

It was a good answer. Her face lightens immediately. She stands up straighter. Considers the idea with some satisfaction. "Do you really think so?" The thought clearly cheers her.

Jane better make tonight fun for her.

"I have to go set up. Break a leg," I say, squeezing her shoulder. It feels slightly strange to me, but she needs the physical contact.

She smiles warmly. "You too, Cho."

Looking at my cell, I realize that time is short to find a good opponent before Pulaski gets to the bar. I hurry to leave the building. The elevator seems slow, there is a large crowd in the lobby, and just as I'm about to leave the building, Agent Pike of the art squad pulls me aside.

"Hey, have you got a moment, Agent Cho?"

I chafe. But this is his case, so I stop. "Barely. What do you need?"

"It's about Jane. Do you think…I mean, he and Lisbon are working the case tonight…"

I can scarcely control my impatience. "Get to the point."

"Are they, um, together?"

This has nothing to do with the case. This is the third time this afternoon someone has forced me to deal with my colleagues' personal relationship. And I am running behind to prepare for my actual job. Pike is by all reports a good agent and a decent person. But I feel like hitting him.

"Why would you ask me a question like that?"

"I was thinking of asking her out, after all this is over. But I don't want to step on Jane's toes."

Who do people think I am? Dear Abby?

Why am I the go-to guy for personal advice?

I know why. Even a fool is thought wise if he holds his tongue. So says the proverb.

I'm no fool. So they all think my reserve means I'm brilliant. In some ways, it's true.

But with relationships? Not so much. You'd think they would notice. How often do I go out with a woman? Never. Since I came to Austin, nobody has had cause to gossip about my love life. Still, they think I can help them manage something I don't have.

They'd know better, if anyone examined my romantic history rationally. If I would share it, that is. Which I would not.

And if I don't share my own, why would I comment on someone else's?

"Sorry, Pike. Can't help you. I've got to get ready for Pulaski." I turn quickly. Not quickly enough to miss his face.

This could be bad. Really bad. As I run for my car, I feel my gut clench. I know Jane can dance, but he has more on his card tonight than he realizes. He better lead Lisbon with care, or someone might cut in on him.

But I'm not the boss, and I'm absolutely the wrong guy to give advice to the lovelorn. I just have to trust that they can manage it. I have a dance of my own to do.


	4. Fishing for secrets

Chapter 4

Fishing for secrets

Kim Fischer's face was flushed as she returned to her desk. Her reaction to Kimball Cho's unexpected compliment surprised her, and she needed a moment to process it. She was hoping that her colleagues would not pay much attention to such a minor lapse in her professional demeanor. With the big Art Con underway, there was plenty of distraction.

Teresa in particular was clearly preoccupied. Kim didn't understand why, exactly, but she tried to respect Teresa's personal boundaries. They were friends as well as colleagues, but even close friends were bound to keep some private parts of themselves secret.

She reached for her weapon, which had served as her excuse for stepping back, and found under it a folded piece of paper with her name written on it. She guessed Dennis Abbott must have placed it there. Everyone at the FBI knew not to handle another agent's fire-arm without permission, but the boss might take advantage of that for his own purposes.

Like making sure that something was only seen by its intended recipient.

Looking around, she saw that most people had left the bullpen, with the exception of Lisbon and Cho, who were still huddled by his desk, and Wiley, who was setting up for this evening's operation with Abbott looking over his shoulder. She opened the paper, and found Abbott's handwriting as expected. No signature, though.

Keep an eye on our lovebirds tonight. And see if you can find out what's bothering her.

Kim narrowed her eyes, shaking her head minutely. This was Abbott's way of discreetly asking her to keep tabs on Jane and Lisbon. She knew that Abbott had long suspected a sexual or at least romantic relationship between the pair. Abbott usually had good instincts, and she knew he had his reasons for believing this, but as far as she could see Teresa Lisbon was at best tolerant of Jane's antics. And if Jane had designs on Teresa other than maintaining the professional connection, he was playing it incredibly cool. As for Abbott's concern that Teresa was unhappy (and that her unhappiness might affect the morale of the team in general and Jane in particular) Kim thought that he was going overboard, almost to the point of paranoia.

Except… Teresa had been uncharacteristically self-conscious, this evening. Well, actually, since this morning. Kim suspected that the briefing had upset her. Teresa did not, typically, wear dresses. But her response to the one Jane selected for her was a bit over the top. Kim figured that Teresa would be used to Jane's unpredictable whims, expected her to roll with it. After all, Abbott had done so, when basically demoted to flunky for the purposes of Jane's charade. Kim herself knew that her role for this con was sex object. It was a bit distasteful, but she could be flexible, in the line of duty.

Kim wondered if Teresa felt pressured, somehow. Was Jane's assignment in some way crossing boundaries for Lisbon?

She looked over at Teresa, standing by Cho's desk (although Cho had apparently left.) She was looking into space, looking actually much happier at the moment. Her back was straighter. Her face was almost glowing. Was all that the result of Cho's reassurance? Maybe he had shown her a mirror. If that didn't convince her that she looked anything but cheap, then she had some serious self-esteem issues.

Kim tore up the note, put it in the trash, and headed towards Lisbon. "So, are you ready to go?"

Agent Lisbon's eyes refocused quickly, as if she had just wakened from a dream. "Uh, yes, right, let me get my keys." Teresa strode cautiously towards her desk, her usual grace and poise somewhat hampered by the heels. As her eyes followed her friend, Kim was distracted by Abbott's meaningful stare as he walked by the bullpen towards the elevator. His energetic step suggested that he was happy about taking part in this operation, she noted with some surprise. But his intensity of gaze showed that he was still very serious about finding out everything possible about Jane and Lisbon. She inclined her head a fraction to signal that she understood.

This was the part of her job that Kim hated most. Getting information from criminals was in many ways satisfying. Even the little sketch she planned for Pulaski tonight would be to some degree fun. But trying to get into Teresa's head? Or even Jane's. Kim valued her personal space, and violating another person's privacy bothered her conscience. When she had seen the shock on Patrick Jane's face after he returned to the states and found her out as an FBI agent, she had carefully hidden her regret. The man that she had met on the Island had been sweet, charming, and even humble. When their second meeting caused him shut her out, she felt sorry. While it did help her maintain a comfortable professional distance, she wondered if it was worth it. She had thought then that he could have been a good friend, if their first meeting had not involved deceit.

Of course, she had wondered far too often since then whether the man she had met on the island was a glimpse behind Patrick's mask, or just another mask. Sometimes it seemed that Jane's ego didn't leave room for the person that she had met on the island to even exist. If a person so decent was really underneath the smooth, smug exterior, why would he want to hide that?

She thought that Teresa might know, but she didn't often talk about him. Except to commiserate when his antics drove Kim up a wall.

The elevator opened again, and Agent Pike from the Art Squad stepped out looking very distracted. She wondered if that ex-wife of his was giving him trouble again. Word around the bureau was that he still catered to her more than was healthy, to the point that it sometimes affected his work. But the distraction seemed to evaporate as he looked up and saw the two women coming towards him. He stopped stock still, his eyes wide. Locked on Teresa Lisbon. Kim smiled to herself. It looked as if Teresa would have all the appreciation she could ask for tonight. On the other hand, maybe she didn't need it any more. Kim watched her pause and gave the other agent a friendly smile. "Ready to catch some bad guys, Agent Pike?"

Kim saw the man swallow and blink before saying, "I certainly hope so, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon nodded confidently. "Oh, don't worry, we'll get the goods on your art thieves. Jane has never failed to solve a case."

Pike looked at a loss for words for a moment, then said, "He surrounds himself with the best, I'm told. It can't hurt." Then, as though steeling himself to face a firing squad, he stood up a bit taller and said firmly, "You look great, by the way."

"How sweet. Thank you." Teresa positively radiated self-assurance, and Kim could see Pike's fascination stamped across his every feature. Kim cleared her throat.

As if suddenly registering her presence, Pike looked at Fischer and said hastily, "Both of you."

Kim managed not to laugh. The man's interest in Teresa was all too evident. But to Fischer it seemed clear that her friend's appeal was boosted by something else entirely. She would not let on, of course. Instead she, too, acknowledged the compliment politely. She put out a hand to hold the elevator door as it started to shut, and was relieved that she didn't have to prompt Lisbon to follow her in. "Uh, break a leg," Pike said quickly as the doors closed between them.

Teresa was actually bouncing on the balls of her feet as Kim pushed the button to the ground floor. The high heels clicked a giddy dance as the elevator dropped beneath them. "I guess Cho was right," Kim heard her friend musing beside her. She kept her eyes forward, but hummed inquiringly in response. "Jane does know what suits me." A sideways glance showed Teresa looking at her reflection in the glass and metal surfaces of the wall, satisfaction in every line of her posture. Kim sighed. Perhaps there was something to Abbott's theory, after all.

As they stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, Kim said, "Do you mind if we stop off at my car, first? I brought some hors d'oevres."

That snapped Teresa out of her reverie. "You did? Were we supposed to do that?"

"Well, agent Pike's department took care of most of those details, but a few of us that will be at the party wanted to bring things, too. I just felt like contributing. What's a party without classy snacks?"

"You cook?" Teresa looked impressed, and far too surprised.

"Well, it's either that or live on take-out." Kim didn't add that her mother had made sure she had all the survival skills she might need well before she headed out for college. She knew that Teresa had not been so fortunate. Although fortunate was not the term Kim usually applied to her circumstances…

She felt Teresa's eyes on her as they walked to the door together, and looked back at her. Questions filled the other woman's eyes. Teresa was curious about Kim's past, but didn't want to pry because Fischer was technically her superior. Fischer appreciated her restraint. And wanted it to be unnecessary. And felt guilty that she was about to be take advantage of Teresa's mood to pump her for information.

"Cooking isn't hard to learn, you know. I'd be happy to have you over some time. Show you some of the basics." _Oh, brilliant opening gambit_, Fischer scolded herself. _I should have lead with personal stuff about my mother. That just sounds like I think Lisbon can't take care of herself_.

But Lisbon was apparently in too hyped up to take offense. "That would be nice. I mostly cook out of boxes and cans. Convenience food was mostly all we could afford at our house growing up, and Mom hadn't taught me much else before she died, except cookies." She smiled at a bittersweet memory. Kim marveled as she opened the door and held it for her friend. Teresa had just volunteered very personal information without a qualm, without a direct question, and with almost no effort on Fischer's part. What would change her mood from anxious and fretful to open and unguarded so quickly? Teresa was usually amiable, and honest to a fault, but in all the time that they had worked together, Kim had never known her to act so carefree. Was this what Teresa was like when she was truly happy?

If so, all Kim needed to do was avoid spoiling her mood and Teresa would be telling her whatever she wanted to know even before they got to the party house. This would be far too easy. And it made Kim feel like a terrible person.

Leading the way to her car, Kim tried not to grit her teeth as she smiled into the next question. "So I'm a bit nervous, this isn't my usual kind of operation. Did you and Jane do this sort of thing often at the CBI?"

"Nothing quite like this. Jane doesn't repeat himself. He likes to think outside the box, try new things all the time." Again Teresa laughed softly.

"That must have been a bit unnerving…" Fischer found comfort in routines, predictable procedures. She wondered, not for the first time, how Lisbon had managed to survive in such a chaotic partnership.

"Sometimes, but it kept me on my toes. Actually it was really fun most of the time. Except for the paper work. And so satisfying. Well, you know. Not every team is as successful as one that has Patrick Jane…"

And Teresa continued on like that as they went to Kim's car, picked up the food that Fischer had stashed in a cooler in the trunk, and moved on to Lisbon's vehicle. Fondly reminiscing about the CBI, her old team, and Golden Boy Patrick Jane who closed every case he ever worked on.

Kim was more and more certain that Abbott was right, at least as far as Teresa was concerned. With each word that she spoke, Teresa confirmed her infatuation with her former partner. It began to grate on Kim's nerves. She remembered asking Lisbon early on how she had managed to control Jane. Now she wondered if in fact Jane had been in control all along. Taking advantage of her obvious attraction to him, manipulating her to keep himself in the loop at the CBI.

_No_, Kim told herself. _I've been working with Teresa for months now, and she's good at what she does. Professional. Dedicated and hardworking. She toes the line. She's too smart to let herself get conned by a little charm and good looks._

But Kim remembered that after the very first case, when Jane had temporarily gone missing, Abbott had advised her not to put the two alone together too often. The main reason he had given was to make sure that Jane bonded with the other members of the team, but Fischer had known that Abbott been seriously worried that Jane would not be found. He had let slip afterwards that he suspected that Jane had only returned because of Teresa Lisbon. And while he never said so, Fischer realized that Abbott had wondered if Jane would even need the FBI if he was sure of Lisbon. Perhaps he thought that, given the chance, the two might disappear together.

Kim wondered how Abbott knew about the nature of Teresa's feelings for Jane. Surely while he was interrogating her in Sacramento, she would not have been as relaxed and willing to share details of her private life with the man who had closed down her beloved CBI and all the things she cared most about. Had the matter come up when she was offered the position on their team?

Finally, as she slid into the driver's seat of her car, Lisbon stopped her litany of nostalgia and got down to business. "Can you call up the address?" she asked, fastening her seat belt.

"It's on my GPS," Fischer responded, pulling out her smart phone. "So why do you figure Jane decided to go into law enforcement in the first place? Wasn't he rich and famous before he started consulting on the Red John Case?"

"I didn't meet him until after his family was killed." Teresa eyes were intent on the road as she pulled out of the parking lot, but her frown altered her whole face. "I did get a glimpse, though, of what he was like before he even had a family. He had an episode of amnesia during one case…"

"For real?" Fischer couldn't help interrupting. "I thought that only happened on soap operas."

"Oh, it was real, alright," Teresa's smile was grim. "He acted like a completely different person, it was creepy. If that was any indication of Patrick's personality from before… well, let's just say that man would have been useless for helping anyone but himself. Certainly not law enforcement. I'm not sure what changed. But I think Angela and Charlotte probably had a lot to do with it. Having people you love, being loved yourself, flaws and all, it changes a person." Teresa turned a corner, prompted by the GPS.

"So you're saying he was even a worse pain in the neck before he got married?"

"You have no idea. The Jane that you know is a Saint by comparison."

"That's hard to believe." Kim glanced outside at the street lights coming on in the dusk around them. "Even if he did change after he was married, he was pretending to be a psychic, right up to the night that his family was killed, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Did he really consult on the Red John case then, or was he just blowing smoke in that interview?"

"I spoke to members of the team that had the case before me. When Jane first joined our team. Jane had approached them on many occasions, giving his theories based on the news reports he had observed. They didn't really give him direct access to the case. They didn't trust him. They did humor him on occasion, and when his hunches turned out to be right on target, it freaked them out. But, yeah, he overstated his involvement in that interview. Maybe seeking a bit more notoriety for his TV psychic persona. Or maybe he thought he could force them to take him more seriously."

"Well, that con blew up in his face. You'd think he'd learn, after a thing like that."

"He did learn." Teresa glared at Kim, her knuckles so tight around the steering wheel that they glowed white in the twilight. "He learned that right and wrong matter, and that people suffering is not a joke, and that we all have an obligation to give more than we take. He got angry about the evil in the world, and even in himself, and he did something about it. He spent 10 years and more doing something about it."

Her quiet intensity scared Kim almost as much as the fact that Teresa's eyes had left the road for the duration of the speech. She dug her fingers into the seat, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. Please, just watch the road. I didn't mean anything by it."

Lisbon turned her face back to the windshield, blinking back tears. Tears. Fischer had never seen Teresa cry before. "And when he finally did what he set out to do—when he got rid of that sick monster who ripped his life apart, along with so many others—he had to leave the country to avoid prison. Or more likely death from members of the Blake Association. I thought I'd never see him again. And your friend Dennis Abbott hounded me for two years for information on where he might have gone. So don't talk to me about what he should have learned. He should have learned not to trust law enforcement, just like his family always told him. Sometimes I wonder why he bothered to come back."

Fischer remained silent while Lisbon regained her composure. The GPS was the only voice for at least 5 minutes. And then Lisbon sniffed and said, in a broken voice, "Could you get me some tissues from the glove box?" Fischer hastened to comply. She felt petty, and wretched, and utterly ashamed. If Teresa Lisbon, with her discipline and diligence and passion for justice, felt this strongly about Patrick Jane's character, he must be way more than just some selfish con man. More even than a brilliant consultant. Maybe Patrick on the island was who Jane became when he was free from watching his back, free from the need to fix the mess his life had become and force a justice that was too long in coming.

Why **had** he come back? Kim wondered.

"I really am sorry, Teresa. We try so hard to do our job well. We think our rules and our plans can make justice work the way it should. But at the end of the day, sometimes we can't even make sense of what right and wrong are. Jane… I know his heart is in the right place. Sometimes the way he goes about solving things makes me crazy. But he does make a difference. I can't argue the results."

Teresa blew her nose with one hand on the wheel. "Thanks. I'm sorry I blew up like that." She stuffed the tissue in a plastic bag. Then huffed. "I'm going to need to redo my make-up."

Kim pointed ahead to the right. "Pull in here at this gas station. You can use their bathroom to freshen up, and I'll pick you up some food and coffee."

After the pit stop, Teresa seemed more herself. "Do I look okay?" she asked sheepishly, gesturing at her face. Kim, after just a moment's hesitation, pulled her into a hug. She whispered fiercely in her friends ear, "You look beautiful. And strong. And loyal. And I am so proud to have you on my team."

Teresa let out a mild curse. "Don't make me cry again. Boss or no, I will take you down." Then, with a breathless laugh, she pulled back and handed Kim her keys. "Here. Maybe you should drive."

By the time the GPS announced their arrival at the intended location, the Fischer and Lisbon had talked through the case a bit, getting back into professional mode. And Kim had privately decided not to breathe a word of Teresa's confidences to Abbott. She also decided to admit to her supervising agent that Lisbon did in fact appear to be somewhat smitten with the consultant, and to advise him to give her time to get comfortable at the FBI. Probably letting them work together more often would help morale all around.


End file.
